by Andy Roberts
‘I’ve told him already,’ Griff grumbled, his foot elevated, his mood no lighter.
Brae stood slowly and took a deep breath. ‘I think it’s time I told you about my visits to the library.’
‘I’ll fetch us more tea,’ Pew said lifting the cold pot off the table. ‘It sounds as though this might be a long mornin’.’
‘I read everythin’ I could get my hands on,’ Brae told them when they were sat around the steaming pot. ‘Didn’t know where to begin at first and so I started with our great plays: Heronicae Dronus, Facitae Felle, even The Children of the Deep Blue Moon. Next, I read about our history, the wars and the old empire. Everythin’ I could about the famous architecture of Randor—that’s where I learned of the tunnel. There were books of maps and sea travel too. I know it makes no sense at all, but I always felt as though someone was leadin’ me from one part of the library to another, and in an order of their own choosin’.’
‘That scoundrel no doubt.’ Griff cracked his knuckles but Brae shook his head.
‘It was the man in my dreams—said he was my father, so he did.’ Brae lowered his eyes. ‘My real father.’
Griff had often wondered how he might react when this moment finally arrived, and now that it had, he still wasn’t sure.
‘Spoke to me in two different voices, but they were both as clear as I’m speakin’ to you now.’
Tamulan leaned on the table. ‘Describe the voices.’
Brae stood and wandered the room, trailing his hand on the back-supports of chairs as he went. ‘One of them was just like mine and I recognised it instantly.’
‘And the other?’
Brae slowed. ‘Sounded like a nobleman, I guess. One that needs to rest his voice.’
‘Jopha?’ Griff said. ‘She’s been givin’ the boy sour dreams, so she has.’
Tamulan nodded. ‘But on the command of the Dragon Lord’s shadow. Your father was trying to warn you—his was a counterbalance.’
Brae came back to the table with a spring in his step and hope on his face. ‘Does that mean he still lives?’
Tamulan stood. ‘There’s every chance that he does.’
— Winter —
Winter stalks across the land and brings with it a cruel hand.
Chapter
— 18 —
Cool autumn had turned a cold winter’s chill, the pathways of Randor shinning white with the first frost of a new season. The streets were near-deserted and deathly quiet save for the sound of Threskans moving along the cobblestone road. A door opened, then another, and soon the place was teeming with worried city-folk, the air littered with nervous chatter.
‘They’re here,’ someone called. ‘It’s starting,’ came the cry.
Elam Goust ignored them all and continued towards the Senate building, twelve horsemen from the royal cavalry and one hundred foot-soldiers following close behind—smart in navy tunics and black trousers—dangerous in every respect.
Chancellor Gelfroy waited nervously on the wide expanse of Senate steps, his empty stomach turning somersaults, his feet as cold as those of the dead. A runner had brought word from Jerrals’ Bridge over thirty minutes earlier, a rhythmic rattle-and-thud confirming the exhausted man’s claim that the Threskans were already well within the city boundary. First to arrive was a single rider dressed all in white, three lines of four horsemen following close behind—twenty rows of five men each after that. Gelfroy descended the steps, taking care not to slip on their iced, leading edges. He reached the bottom safely and stood in wait on the narrow pavement.
Emissary Goust dropped from a stallion that was over eighteen hands tall and as white as the frosted roofs of the waking city. The middle-aged diplomat wore a thick travel-robe and bowl-shaped hat that were each tailored from the furs of the near-extinct snow bear. His short legs bowed under his not-inconsiderable weight, knee-length leather boots doing all they could to support him. He removed his gloves and hung them from a small hip-hook on his belt and only then knocked fists with the chancellor. ‘Solon, I do hope all can be explained without the need for further bloodshed.’ Goust spoke in his native tongue and glanced at his men, a less than subtle reminder that he had brought with him the most feared fighting force in any of the near-lands.
‘The perpetrators have already been tried and sentenced,’ Gelfroy said in stumbling Ukuri.
‘Vaspar Gendrick also?’ The emissary held the chancellor with a serious eye.
‘We’ll have the minister in custody before this evening’s sun-down.’ Gelfroy crossed his fingers inside his mittens and prayed that his worry lines didn’t give him away.
Goust smiled, though the corners of his mouth barely lifted above the horizontal. He summoned one of the riders and had the man open a leather saddle-bag and remove a pair of wooden boxes. The lids of each were carved with an intricate pattern of creeping ivy, the objects themselves, little bigger than a man’s clenched fist. ‘For the hearts,’ he said.
Gelfroy passed them on to a guard for safe-keeping. ‘You’ll need a larger one for the Reaban, I’m sure.’
The emissary shook his head and started up the steps. ‘The second box is Gendrick’s: the Reaban will die in a Threskan ring.’
‘I have to come,’ Brae said dancing about the room in a fit of mounting agitation. ‘The book was meant for me, not any of you.’
‘It belongs to the druids,’ Tamulan reminded him, ‘and as Eiyl, it’s my responsibility now.’
‘Besides,’ Philly said making last minute adjustments to her costume, ‘the custodian knows your identity—you’ll never get anywhere near it.’
Brae followed Tamulan around the room, stopping only when the druid squeezed behind the bar to collect Windsong. ‘You can’t take it tonight,’ he said with a shake of the head.
Griff stood and nodded. ‘Boy’s right, so he is. No weapons allowed at the festival.’
‘Then what about this?’ Tamulan produced the rattle he’d used to hypnotise the dream-keeper and rolled along the palm of his hand.
Brae poked at it with a finger. ‘What is it?’
‘The tip of a sea-serpent’s tail. I cut it off him during a fight.’
Griff sniffed. ‘You don’t go in the water.’ His lips curled but it could hardly be called a smile.
‘And this being the very reason why. The creature shouldn’t have been in the estuary, they don’t usually come in from the depths. But this was a clever one and evil too. It must have known that I was camped on the riverbank and stayed low in the water to take me as I speared fish.’ Tamulan raised the left leg of his trousers to reveal healed teeth marks that ran like a line of white stitching through cheap clothing.
‘What did you do?’ Philly asked.
‘What could I? It took me way out to sea and then headed for a dark cave near the ocean floor. We fought until my head and lungs were about to burst and—’
‘Bollocks you did.’ Griff had heard more than enough and was now impatient to leave.
Tamulan bobbed and weaved as Philly swung a combination of playful punches at him. He couldn’t blame them for not believing him, true though his tale was.
Snake was in the Senate kitchen, rummaging through the cold-pantry when Gendrick found him. ‘I told you to stay out of sight,’ he said. ‘No-one can know we’re still here.’
The poisoner held his grumbling stomach and scowled. ‘I’m tired of hiding in cupboards.’
On their way to the Law-Room the previous day, an anonymous arm had reached from behind a marble pillar and pulled the minister deep into the dark shadows. At first, Gendrick had reached for his blade and readied himself to slit his assailant’s throat. But then a quiet warning passed one way, a purse of coins doing likewise the other. The minister had subsequently decided it too dangerous to flee the Senate with a price on his head and chose to hide while he thought of a suitable decoy.
‘There’s no-one here to see us.’ Snake shrugged and shut the pantry door. He took a bite from a chicken leg and
licked the grease from his fingers, nodding towards a serving trolley that waited idly in the corner of the room. On top of the trolley was a solid-silver tray with decanter and matching cut-crystal glasses. ‘Aggleberry liqueur,’ he said wiping his lips on the back of his hand. ‘And I have it on very good authority that very bottle is destined for the emissary’s chambers.’
Gendrick’s eyes searched the kitchen. ‘But you said you were seen by no-one?’
Snake led the minister to a large, wicker basket and wedged the drumstick between his teeth to lift the lid. ‘He won’t be telling any tales,’ he said tossing the chicken to the floor with a shake of the head.
‘You’ve killed a child?’ Gendrick said with genuine surprise. The boy was no more than ten years old and wore the brown, woollen trousers and tunic of a kitchen hand. His legs were bent awkwardly under him, a sandal missing from one foot. He watched them with open eyes, pleading to know what it was he’d done to deserve such a terrible fate.
‘I’ve got the emissary’s glove for the binding.’ Snake waved it at him. ‘The kid did well to get anywhere near Goust.’
Gendrick bent over the basket and straightened the boy. He found the missing sandal under the table and slipped it onto a milky-white foot. He shut the child’s eyes with a gentle touch and then closed his cheap casket. ‘Someone’s going to come looking for him, and when they do—’
‘I can cut him and make it look like a kitchen accident?’ Snake said reaching for his blade.
‘Don’t you dare touch him.’ Gendrick forced the basket closed and shepherded the poisoner towards the hallway, stopping only briefly to look back. ‘How did you do it?’ he asked, an edge of melancholy flattening his voice.
Snake reached into his coat pocket and produced a paper bag that was half-full of short sticks of liquorice. ‘Care for one?’ he asked with a smirk. Gendrick declined the offer and shoved him into the corridor with a rough hand.
A knock sounded and the door opened before Gelfroy had opportunity to rise to his feet. It was highly improper for such a meeting to be interrupted, though his anger was blunted somewhat by the look of grave concern on the face of the bishop. ‘Please forgive me Chancellor, but I bring news of a very important matter.’ Tarunkeep stood with his crosier not quite past the threshold, his free hand resting on the door-frame for added support. He nodded an apology to the emissary, though chose to not speak with him directly. ‘Perhaps we might step out into the corridor a moment?’
Goust waved the chancellor away with the back of his hand. ‘See to it,’ he said firmly.
The door closed with a soft thump. ‘This had better be worth it. We’d almost reached an agreement in there?’
The bishop took Gelfroy’s arm and steered him towards a floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the carpeted hallway. ‘It seems someone has spread rumours our government is being held against its will.’
Gelfroy tugged the heavy drape to one side. ‘Who would do such a thing?’ A line of greensleeves waited in the square below, several more positioned on the steps behind them, lightning-staffs charged and flashing blue in the approaching darkness.
‘You have to make an announcement, and soon,’ the bishop told him. ‘Many of the populous are armed.’
They stepped onto the Balcony of Announcements not more than ten minutes later, Commander Nolaan and Bishop Tarunkeep standing close at their sides. Gelfroy raised his arms and waited for the rowdy crowd to settle, flapping his hands quickly when they didn’t. Emissary Goust put an arm on the first minister’s shoulder, his simple tactile gesture successful in bringing about a rising level of calm. The chancellor took his opportunity, the acoustics of the crowded square carrying his message loud and clear to each and every citizen. ‘King Kwoten seeks justice for Prince Robut…’ he began. Cheers sounded from the student population and Gelfroy paused a moment to let them pass. He gripped the iron railing as he waited, his fingers sticking to its frosted surface as though the metalwork was coated with a sticky wood-sap. ‘…And justice is what the king will get.’ He paused one final time. ‘The Winter’s Day Festival will commence at six bells with the public bleeding of Lanista Belb.’ The chancellor raised a hand and milked the cheers of the people. They’d averted a riot and undoubtedly something far worse. ‘There’s more,’ he said and couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’ve issued a warrant for the arrest of Lord Vaspar Gendrick, be him alive or dead.’
Chapter
— 19 —
Belb had often wondered what it would be like to die. As a soldier, he’d seen many good men fall in the name of a noble cause, others live when the best they deserved was death’s cold kiss. But against outrageous odds, he’d survived the Great War and returned to Randor with hordes of anonymous men who searched for work and an inner peace most never found. Some turned to crime or begged on the city streets. Others made new friends in alcohol and resin. And a few sort solace on the end of a sharp blade. Belb chose the arena and quickly became an accomplished ring-fighter. He was popular with the crowds, feared by opponents—noticed by Vaspar Gendrick. The minister had made him a lanista and in so doing, a wealthy man. The minister had then betrayed him and left him to die. The sombre thought brought him back to the present. It was almost time for his bleeding and he followed Bhildraed as upright and dignified as his uncomfortable shackles would allow. He’d seen grown men cry at this point, others soil themselves as they begged for a mercy they themselves had never shown. But he’d do no such thing, and would at last get an answer to his long pondered question.
Madoc took them into the city on the proviso that he drove the waggon no matter what. Griff sulked in the back, toppling side-to-side at regular intervals, Tamulan and Philly keeping Socks company on the front seat. They slowed on the approach to Jerrals’ Bridge and came to a complete halt on the command of a greensleeve.
The guard left the shelter of his sentry box begrudgingly, the weak overhead lamps illuminating little more than his head and rounded shoulders. ‘What’s your purpose in the city tonight,’ he asked holding the blue glow of his lightning-staff close to the farmer’s face.
‘Takin’ students to the festival,’ Madoc said cheerily. Philly jumped from the waggon and grabbed at her witch’s hat when it made an attempt to get away.
The guard spun and followed her movements full circle. ‘And you?’ he called to the innkeeper.
Griff stood and drew a wooden cutlass. ‘The ghost of a sea-thief, so I am,’ he said lifting an eye patch. His skin and beard were painted white with a cracked mix of flour and water, making it near-impossible to pin an age to him.
‘Students, eh?’ Madoc said.
‘I just dare you to look under there,’ Philly said when the greensleeve turned his attention to the druid’s hood. ‘That’s Lodan himself.’
The man lowered his hand immediately and retreated a step without quite knowing why. He stamped his feet and glanced towards the sentry box. ‘Keep your wits about you,’ he warned, ‘there’s been some trouble in the city these past few days.’ He started making his way across the road away from them and then stopped suddenly. ‘Festival’s gonna start at six bells with a bleeding in Senate Square.’
‘First place we’ll go,’ Philly promised.
‘Keep a watch for Vaspar Gendrick,’ the guard shouted as he closed the ill-fitting door behind him, the rest of his sentence drowned out by the blowing wind.
‘Always,’ Philly called back.
Bhildraed was leading him to the hanging post at the centre of the square.
‘Use a rusted blade,’ someone shouted at the hooded executioner.
‘Make it slow,’ another called. The man aimed a kick at the lanista, scuffing his thigh and making it burn while he limped the remaining distance. A greensleeve broke from his line and pushed the disorderly man to the floor, standing over him in warning with the charged pincer of his lightning-staff.
Belb did all he could to ignore their cruel words. He thought of his childhood; of running in lush, gre
en fields and drinking water from mountain streams that were so cold their contents made his teeth ache and head pound. He saw his childhood sweetheart, Emili. She spoke and told him to be brave, promising that she still waited on the other side, whispering that they’d soon be together again. Then there was his only child, Desini. His love for his daughter knew no bounds. He ached to see her one last time, longed to hold her and smell her sweet-scented hair. Belb didn’t think about the act of death itself, strange now that it was so very close.
Commander Nolaan stood near the tall post waiting to receive Thresk’s half-pound of quivering muscle—in his hand, a small, wooden box. Bhildraed stopped to check both leg nooses, tugging on them to make sure they passed freely on the pulley-wheels. ‘Step in,’ he said once he’d laid them flat on the floor. Belb did and felt the cord bite instantly at his ankles. ‘Sit.’ The lanista hesitated a moment too long and the executioner kicked his legs from under him. Cheers broke out all around the square as Belb hit the cobblestones with an impact that took his wind and brought with it the first waves of fear since sentencing. ‘Open.’ Bhildraed forced a wooden ball into the lanista’s mouth and fastened a pair of leather straps at the back of his head. Belb tried to swallow but dribbled instead. ‘Eyes?’ The lanista shook his head and saw the blindfold tossed aside.
Madoc stopped in front of the library and let them off.
‘Where will you be?’ Griff steadied himself on firmer ground.
‘I can wait here a while.’ The farmer held the handbrake and gave it an extra tug for good measure. ‘But the guards will move me on if you’re not quick.’